It’s Not The Number That Bothers Me
Somehow I made it around the sun another lap, another birthday. Some will often whimper about their increasing age, all the while hailing the extension of the day of the actual event of their birth to a week long celebration, sometimes even a month. My younger daughter upon looking at a class reunion photo from this year pointed out, with all due apologies to my classmates, “everybody looks so old”. Of course, we are all the same age, but some of our physical characteristics have changed, some a lot. In all fairness, though my hair remains its natural brown color, with shades of pepper underneath the length, my beard on the chin is completely gray thanks to my father, who also carried his natural hair color his entire life. Thanks Dad.
I am glad to be the age that I currently am. I am glad for the next year that I turn older, and so on. I do not look at turning older as a curse, as that same daughter would say, it is indeed a blessing.
What I do struggle with, is the actual date. Speaking of cursed, though I share the same birthday with many I personally know, this date, and the time around it, is not a period I look forward to at all. Again, I don’t mind turning another year older. It is just for me, so many years, there has been so much darkness and crisis that have occurred the same time.
In 1974, I was not even in double digits of age, when my aunt was lighting my birthday cake on an outdoor side porch, next to a stack of newspapers she had accumulated to recycle… do I really need to explain the next part? She brought the cake, having only nine candles, not like the image on this post, into the kitchen where I and the rest of my family were sitting, and trying to sing Happy Birthday to me. My uncle just happened to be stopping by the house, when he burst into the door yelling “fire!” to which my grandmother pointed to the cake and said, “yes, right here.” Again, my uncle yelled “NO, FIRE! ON THE SIDE PORCH!”
Fortunately, the fire was contained to that porch. But the smell lingered in the house, for many days. I can actually still “smell” the burning when I think about it.
The next year, while jokes were made that perhaps we should only have ice cream for my birthday, something I would not have objected to, my birthday went without a hitch that time. But the following year, turned that time period for me on its head. Three relatives had passed away, just before Christmas Day through New Year’s Day. This darkness, or curse if you will, continued on. I have mentioned about my diagnosis with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma just before the holidays began. My stepmother was hit by a car, critically wounding her, days before Christmas. My first wife had been in a head-on car accident just after the new year began.
Only after my daughters came along, did I seem to give the holidays a break, enjoying them once again. But in filing for divorce, anticipating high conflict, I made a decision to eliminate one potential source, custody visits during the holidays. I gave their mother all of the holidays, while trying to schedule time with me on dates surround the holidays instead. My birthday, falling in December, the week before Christmas would also be sacrificed. And so, my dark attitude about my birthdays and holidays returned, they were just other days.
As if I needed any more reasons, my health jumped back into the holiday ho-hums saying “hold my beer.” Heart issues that had been on “watch” since my bypass in 2008, had begun to worsen and need attention. Sure, that was bad enough, but this was occurring in 2019, the beginning of Covid-19. Because of how quickly and deadly the spread was happening, and with the need to avoid infection of Covid-19 so I could undergo the first of three annual cardiac related surgeries (that had reached critical levels), it meant my daughters avoiding travelling to see me, so as not to bring Covid-19 to me. Both my daughters, though understanding the risks, agreed with the decisions that needed to be made. This happened twice in the last four years.
This year I was determined to give the season just one more shot. My health has been stable. With my younger daughter aging out of the custody agreement, all visitations with my daughters are now handled between the three of us. They made the decision, that they would come visit me, for my birthday, something that has not happened in ten years. Clearly this would have a profound impact on the direction of how I usually spend my holidays. I was excited. We all were excited.
Then a call came from my oldest daughter, just two days before they were set to travel to see me. Covid-19 had hit their house, not my daughters, but they were now exposed. With no time to test during the incubation exposure period, we all agreed, not this year. I could tell my daughters were upset, as was I because everything had been going right.
So, here I am, another holiday season, just looking at it as just other days, as usual. Do not mistake me though, I am very happy for everyone who can get through these days, celebrating joyfully. But there are those, I know I have friends, who are going through this holiday season for the first time, following the loss of someone close to them. And they will also do what they must to get through these days.
I am not afraid of getting older. I actually welcome it. With what I have to deal with in regard to my health, each year more that I get to call myself a long term cancer survivor, is a win in my book. The fact that I have to see so many doctors so often, is not a bad thing. It means that if something does develop, it is caught early, hopefully. This is actually an advantage over someone “healthy” who does not see a doctor regularly, until an emergency room visit via ambulance. It does not mean that I obsess about sickness and death. It means that I live on in spite of any potential concerns. And for as often as I hear “oh yeah, well you could be hit by a car crossing the street,” yes, but you may not have someone “pushing” you into the path of that car like my health does.
I don’t live my days like each one might be my last. I do go to bed each night, with things I have planned to do tomorrow. And that is different. And so far, I have had 35 years of waking up with things to do the next day since I was diagnosed with cancer.
Paul's Heart 